How I Think the Comic Should Have Ended
by Nicholas de Vilance
Summary: /...exactly what the title says...?/ Jensen drags Cougar out practically by the hair at the last minute. /MAJOR Spoilers for the comic, mainly in the author's note/


Nicholas: Another Losers fic. That's two withing one week. Weird. Apparently while I write my chapter!fic, I need to be writing something else on the side. This is because when I read the end of the comic I cried and FUCK COUGAR for making me cry. I think he and Jensen should live long, fucked up, bicker-when-their-old lives with each other (even though it's not possible and the comic really did end the only way it could have). Spoilers for the end are this "COUGAR AND CLAY _DIE_!" Woops, did I say that out loud? Now read the fic, bitches. Wow, the rant I wrote for Jensen is really rubbing off on me. Read and review, please!

Disclaimer: I'm not that crazy. I'm only this crazy. That? That's all them.

Rating: M...EXCESSIVE dropping of the "f" bomb. 27 times, actually. And some violence. Passing mention of violence against children. Mild reference to alcohol, and extremely mild slash references-like seriously, people, you have to be looking with a microscope this time, I swear!

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><p>"I gotta end it…"<p>

Jensen hadn't cried—like honest-to-Jesus _cried_—since Afghanistan, and even then he stifled his tears so no one saw them. Before that, he couldn't remember. His father had taught him the hard way that crying was only appropriate when there was a foot shoved so far up your ass—and even then, you had to have a damn good reason. And Jensen had done good with that, kept his eyes as dry as possible. When Pooch left the team, he didn't so much as sniffle; when Clay died, not a tear fell. He figured that so far, given the circumstances, he was doing a damn fine job of not having an emotional-fucking-breakdown on top of that nuclear-fucking-warhead. _Fuck_ Cougar if the bastard thought he was gonna fuck that up.

Abruptly, Jensen shoved the bomb out of Cougar's lap and yanked the smaller man up by the collar. "You know what I have to say about that, you little dickwad?" he snapped, finally losing his goddamned patience with all this war and death and pain and heartbreak. "You can go fuck yourself. But you better be prepared to fuck yourself alive and well in a hotel somewhere on the coast, preferably _miles_ fucking _away from here_.

"So you have nightmares about dying children, big fucking flip, bitch. That wasn't your fault—you have nothing to repent with your life for, you self-sacrificing prick, so I will say this only once more, fucker: I _will not_ leave your sorry ass behind, do you hear me? So get the fuck up and put on a wet suit!"

For a moment, Cougar just sort of stared and when Jensen tossed him back down—rage causing his hands to shake—the cat genuinely couldn't say if Jensen wasn't scarier than the nuclear bomb that was sitting just a few feet away from both of them right now. "Okay," he said quietly.

"What was that?" Jensen's tone, as he tore the stupid uniform shirt off over his head, was downright venomous.

"I said okay, maricón," Cougar grumbled. The throbbing in his shoulder had miraculously lessened. If it ever got out that Jensen's emotional outburst had the ability to numb pain, there would be a collective aneurysm in the medical community.

"Damn straight, mother fucker."

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><p>Mostly, Jensen swam with Cougar clinging to his back. Because pain-killing emotional outburst aside, Jensen didn't have the power to change the fact that Cougar had been shot—twice. Jensen had patched him up as best he could with what they had on hand before they had to book it out of there, and hopefully the wet suit would be some added protection, just until they broke the surface and could make it to the rescue ship.<p>

Soon as his nose was above water, Jensen pulled off his face and took a deep breath of real air. He didn't ever want to do this shit again; in fact, he was officially retiring—well unofficially, being that he was _officially_ dead. He was going to hack himself a credit card and get a nice place in a secluded area with no people, but a kick ass internet connection and poodle he could name Han Solo. First things first, though.

"Cougar? You still with me back there?"

Jensen took hold of the arms around his neck and pulled the cat around to his front. Taking the other man's mask off, he saw that Cougar's eyes were half-lidded and his breathing was slow and shaky.

"Shit!" he cursed.

It was hard to support Cougar's weight and his own and keep both of their heads above the water while at the same time looking around for a promised rescue ship. Thankfully, it was blatantly obvious that one hadn't shown up—basically it wasn't there. They were screwed. He slung Cougar back around his neck and squinted really hard just in case he missed it—his glassed were kinda foggy at the moment. Then again, in a vast expanse of flatness that was the ocean, it would be hard to miss even a small fishing vessel.

"AW! Fuck this, man! I fucking hate people! I fucking swear to fucking god that the next fucking person who fucking screws me over is getting a fucking bullet in every fucking one of his fucking major joints before I fucking shoot out his fucking brain."

Right next to his head, Cougar made a soft hissing sound that Jensen could identify as either a pained groan/death rattle or a laugh. The cat's following words made him go with laugh. "Never heard you so angry before, Jake."

"I don't get angry, Cowboy," Jensen replied, making his voice a bit quieter, a bit calmer, basically just relieved that his friend was conscious, "It ain't in my job description to get angry. Angry was Roque or Clay's forte. I am laid back and fucking happy. Can't you just tell what a happy fuck I am right now?"

"Sí. Un gozoso hombre."

"Smart ass." They both chuckled a little, and Cougar leaned his face into the back of Jensen's neck, probably just for comfort. Jensen, of course, wasn't comfortable without saying something, so he rambled on.

"Of course the sheik yanked the rescue ship. He never wanted us to make it off the rig alive, did he? Backstabbin', rat-fuck, son of a bitch—_fuck_ if I saved your ass just for both of us to drown…out…" Above his head, he heard the unmistakable sound a flying machine. "…here?"

Both of them looked up and Cougar muttered "Pooch" before Jensen even had a chance to think it. "Well, I'll be a son of a bitch," Jensen stated, just fatigue short of being absolutely ecstatic when that familiar voice spoke over the loudspeaker.

"Heard you guys might need a ride!"

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><p><strong>Antigua, West Indies<br>One Year Later**

"To Clay?"

Jensen and Cougar share a glance and the cat just shrugs before clinking beer bottles with Pooch. "To Clay," Jensen replied, raising to the toast. "Craziest motherfucker I ever knew. Played to win, nothing to lose; he went down in a blaze of glory…or fire. Whichever works."

Pooch just smiled and took a long swig. "I can drink to that."


End file.
